Giving In
by kitsunelover
Summary: I can resist anything except temptation.


_Giving In_

Disclaimer part I: I don't own Harry Potter or any related merchandise, etc., etc.  Nor do I want to.  I'm convinced that it belongs in Ms. Rowling's capable hands, and there may it stay.  Lucy, however, is my own invention.

A/N: This takes place after Book 4, when Voldemort has been revived, and Lucius isn't exactly in his good graces . . .

"I can resist anything except temptation." –Oscar Wilde

"No," Lucius hissed through gritted teeth.

"And why not?  I think you want it - need it - desperately."  The smiling Muggle tart scraped her obscenely long, scarlet fingernail along the underside of his jaw in a garish attempt at seduction.

"How dare you touch me!" he snarled, pushing her away fiercely.

"Come on, love, the first one's free."  A gaping smile revealed almost brutally straight, white teeth and creases in the cheap lipstick smeared carelessly on her mouth.

"Dammit, woman, what don't you understand about _no_?"  Instantly he regretted his words; she was no woman.  This – this bloody Muggle bitch was wasn't even human.

"Just try it . . . a little taste won't harm you."

Lucius swallowed.  He loosened his stiff and decidedly ugly collar.  Muggle clothes were as uncomfortable and unsightly as he thought they'd be.  Armani, a designer brand indeed.  He'd sooner patronize Madame Malkin's vulgar establishment.  

Screw Lord Voldemort.  A drop of sweat slid between Lucius' shoulder blades.  He shifted agitatedly.

As penitence for failing to search for his Lord during the past thirteen years, and running from the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, Voldemort had given Lucius the most unpalatable task he could think of without thoroughly humiliating him in front of his fellows.  In retrospect, Lucius would have preferred writhing in the throes of Cruciatus at Voldemort's feet . . . anything but this.

It was essential, however, to placate the Dark Lord and make sure that some of the old faith his master had placed in him was restored, so here he was.  Dressed in a hideous Muggle business suit, carrying a briefcase, and cornered in Muggle London by a leering Muggle who wore clothes so brazenly low-cut and tasteless that Narcissa would have cried if she'd been here to see – Lucius could hardly think of a more loathsome situation to be in.

The hussy pouted, widening her vivid blue eyes to great effect.  No matter how coarse she was, Lucius had to admit that she was rather good-looking.  Of course, it didn't hurt that she had all the vivacity of youth.  She could hardly be more than twenty.

"I don't know why you're being so difficult, mister.  I mean, it's obvious you haven't had any for a looong time."

Darting his tongue out nervously, Lucius wet his lips.  It was true, but he daren't confess it to _her_.  Grasping at a pretense to hide his discomfiture, he turned his head and coughed.  As he did so, he caught a glimpse of a white plastic name tag pinned to her jutting breast.  "Lucy," it read.  What a godawful name.

"Will you please step aside," he forced out in strained, polite tones.  Perhaps common courtesy would do what blatant threats had not.  "Miss . . . Lucy."

Delighted that they were now on a first name basis, she grinned broadly and said, "Just call me Lucy.  Please."

"Unnh."  Maybe monosyllabic responses would make her go away.

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Mmm."

She looked at him earnestly.  And placed her hand familiarly on his upper arm.  He became as rigid as a board.

"Lucius," he said, all rational thought abandoning him.  He could have throttled himself.

"Ooh!"  The squeal called to mind the sounds of a stuck pig.  "I'm Lucy . . . and you're LUCIus!"  She clapped her hands ecstatically.

"Indeed," he assented faintly.  

"Lucius, you just have to say yes now.  Honestly, I don't see how you can refuse," she breathed.

He'd never been able to resist a pretty woman.  Despite her lack of Narcissa's brilliance and finesse, Lucy was, as aforementioned, wonderfully young, and her body suggested one of those outrageously-proportioned Muggle dolls he'd seen in the windows of a toy store – Barbie, he remembered vaguely.  Her figure was all soft curves and arcs; it didn't help that her top revealed seemingly endless cleavage and her red skirt displayed slim, shapely legs at their best.  

"Uhm."  Another dry cough.  He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so tongue-tied.  His heart was racing, and her grip on his arm tightened.  How had this wretched Muggle managed to trap him so effectively?

"I'm – I really don't have time for this.  I need to be on my way -," he mumbled incoherently, fingering his wand ardently.  One good hex would be all it took . . .

And yet . . . and yet . . .

He twitched.  The briefcase had long since been dropped to the ground.

"If you'd just say yes, we wouldn't be wasting your precious time, Lucius," she cooed, stroking his arm.

"No . . ."  Even to his own ears, he sounded unforgivably pathetic.  Lucius was immeasurably glad that no one he knew was around to witness this.  To see the patriarch of the Malfoy line reduced to this!  He knew well that there were people out there who would pay a good deal to see it.

And God, how much he wanted to give in, to say _yes_.  Damn this concept called pride which forbade it.  No, stop, he thought frantically.  He did _not _want to accept her proposition!

"Oh, very well," said Lucy impatiently.  Lucius looked at her in astonishment as she made a _moue _of disappointment and removed her hand.

Then with a deft motion, she uncapped the bottle of Coke that she'd been holding in her other hand the whole time and swiftly brought it to her mouth, drinking deeply.  Her head was thrown back, and her golden tresses glistened in the sunlight.  A look of extreme satisfaction replaced her frown as several dark drops trickled past her chin; over the minute curve of her Adam's apple, which worked up and down as she swallowed greedily; and down her arched white neck.  It was possibly the most erotic thing Lucius had ever seen.

Finally, she lowered her head and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.  The smile she gave Lucius was almost feral.

"Still don't care for a go?"

"Ah . . . all right, then," said Lucius, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thin scream echoed as one of his principles was killed off by his acceptance.  Lucius tried to turn a deaf ear to it.  Principles and their kin – values and ethics – were for lesser mortals.  He was above this sort of thing.  Another voice in the back of his mind, a cousin to the dying principle, admonished him shrilly, saying he would regret this, and his forefathers were turning in their graves . . . Lucius shut it all out.

Licking her lips, Lucy handed the bottle to him.

One quick gulp, and then another.  Lucius sighed.  He had been _intolerably_ thirsty.  If he were being entirely honest with himself, the Muggle soda was probably the best thing he'd had to drink in a long time.  He especially liked the tickling feeling it gave his throat.

"Thank you very much, Lucy."  A hasty, furtive look around to make sure no one was watching, and Lucius returned her devilish smile.  Very casually, he slipped his wand out of his sleeve.

"_Obliviate__._"  Her features suddenly became vacant, and her face relaxed.  "Hmm."

Lucius muttered a curse for good measure.  Lucy would come to her senses to find something . . . _changed_, for lack of a better description.  Though it was nothing that would cause overt suspicion, nothing too perceptibly magical, the result would be highly amusing all the same.  He wished he could stay and watch her reaction, but she had already delayed him for his rendezvous.

Feeling very pleased with himself, Lucius strolled down the street, briefcase again in hand, to meet with Nott, who was meeting him in an innocuous little café.  Looking at him, one would have seen just another respectable English gentleman enjoying a cold drink after a grueling business conference.

"Lucius.  You're late."  All work and no play, Nott was.

Lucius shrugged disarmingly and smiled.  He sat down carelessly, his tapered arms splaying across the top of the seats, one hand holding the drink.

Nott frowned slightly, but turned to the papers arrayed in front of him on the table and began to talk.

Lucius sipped his Coke and went on smiling pleasantly.  Some Muggle things, he reflected, actually weren't half bad . . .

Disclaimer part II: I don't own the Coca-Cola company, I'm not making money off this, blah blah.  In fact, I don't really like Coke, but I used it because it's the quintessential soft drink.  And Coca-Cola doesn't really use the, um, advertising methods shown in the story . . . at least not that I'm aware of.

A/N: Mmm . . . somewhat OOC Lucius, but that didn't make writing this any less fun.  Let me know what you think!  Constructive criticism and any other comments are most welcome.  ^_^


End file.
